


A Reunion in a Haze

by yourbucky221B



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Post Reichenbach, Prompt Fic, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourbucky221B/pseuds/yourbucky221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt fic about Sherlock's reunion with John based on the new Sherlock Series 3 preview.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reunion in a Haze

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the prompt ughbenedict and wolfflock on tumblr gave out:  
> Sherlock meets john in that restaurant, mary walks out for a moment, they talk a little, sherlock’s trying to explain why he did what he did but john doesn’t want to listen to him. john walks outside to find mary and sherlock runs after him and doesn’t let him go and here’s the obligatory part sherlock says something more and john’s just too done and he punches the man. mary tries to calm john down but sherlock’s quicker, he grips john and embraces him until john lets go and starts to break and cry and returns the hug. make it angsty. and beautiful. and deep. and more angsty and painful.
> 
> Then we got a bonus from wolfflock:  
> Cupcakes from me if you make it into a group hug because Mary isn’t weirded out by the whole thing as John has told her everything about his friendship with Sherlock. And she accepts it. Because she is an amazing woman and Sherlock sees it from the moment he sees her.
> 
> So here is my little fic for Anna and Lucy's prompt.

   His coat was taken from his shoulders in a flash, the host gesturing forward for him to enter the restaurant. Black shiny shoes on wooden flooring stepped forward as the doors were pushed open for him to enter. Romantic lighting filtered through and his eyes searched the room quickly observing everything in his sight. Tables with couples, candles and flowers on the polished surfaces, the distinct tinkling of cutlery on plates. Another step and another glance and his eyes found what he was looking for.

   He braced himself to go forward.  To tell John everything, to explain everything. He had to do this. He was determined to see this through. It had been too long. He hadn’t meant for this to go on so long. He barely recognised John now, his hair a little greyer, his upper lip now held a thick moustache. He looked older and wasn’t in his usual shirt and comfy jumper combo. Sherlock heart picked up as his thoughts were processed. John. He was seeing John again after all this time. And now John would see him.

   His eyes picked up movement  across from John seconds after he had focussed on John himself. A woman. Short blonde hair, styled neatly to her head, formal evening wear, smile on her lips as she looked at John. Sherlock gulped and he was almost stunned. John despite the formal way he held himself seemed so at ease in her presence. Happy even. Something he hadn’t expected.

   He registered a smile on John’s lips and then was walking forward his stride not as determined as it had been. John didn’t look up at first as Sherlock stopped next to his table, he was still looking through the menu. The blonde woman however looked up immediately but Sherlock kept his eyes trained on John.

   John barely registered the fact someone was standing next to him until he felt Mary shift in her seat across from him.

   “Hello, John.”

   That deep baritone filtered through his ears, his mind whirred, processing it immediately. How could he have forgotten what he sounded like? It was impossible to. John froze. Eyes down, still rooted to the menu which he held in his hands, but his eyes were no longer focussed on the price of the wine he had been looking at. They stared, hazily, letting the lettering blur as his heart thudded in his chest.

   A shuffle across from him and a soft hand on his broke him out of his daze and his head snapped up. Those grey blue eyes found his but this time they didn’t stare lifelessly ahead, they blinked nervously. He looked the same, exactly the same. His face seemed older, older than what he was and his eyes held a softness he hadn’t seen before but everything else was a perfect preservation of a life he once had lived.

   “S-Sherlock?” His voice broke, embarrassingly and his hands clutched the menu tightly.

   A small smile twitched at the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. He was so happy to hear his voice. To hear John say his name again. He straightened his shoulders but relaxed the rest of his body. He could do this. It was John. John would listen. John would understand.

   “Yes, John.” He replied, trying to keep the smile from breaking out onto his face.

   Mary pushed back her chair softly, stroking the top of John’s hand as she stood. John looked over to her immediately, silently asking her where she was going. Begging her not to leave him. She smiled softly, her eyes holding back the nerves she felt for John, her own shock and that tiny feeling in the pit of her stomach that was scared at how John was going to react.

   “I’ll be outside.” She reassured, putting her coat over her arm before nodding at Sherlock gently and walking around the tables to the exit. John stared after her for a second, calming that part of him that thought she might leave him for good.

   Sherlock took Mary’s seat hesitantly at first but settled down quickly, placing his hands on the table, clenching and unclenching his fingers. He cleared his throat and swallowed the extra saliva in his mouth before meeting John’s deep blue eyes.

   “I’m sorry,” Sherlock put out there, his voice just as hesitant as his movements as he flinched under John’s ever hardening gaze, “I did what I had to, though John. There was no other way this could have gone. It was essential for me to fake my death in order to prevent Moriarty’s men –”

   “I don’t want to hear it.” John cut him off, his eyes trained on the table, his hands clenched into angry fists. His whole body was vibrating. Bloody Sherlock. Alive. He was alive. Three years. Three years of hell and he’d been alive.

    Sherlock was confused, his brow screwed up at John’s reaction. Where was his John? The one who would sit there and listen as he explained his deductions and observations and experiments before offering a simple, ‘Brilliant’?

   “Don’t you want to hear how I did it?” Sherlock asked, that crease still embedded in his brow.

   “No. I don’t want to hear how you bloody did it.” John snapped, his fist pounding on the table, causing Sherlock to move back in surprise. A few people looked their way but none lingered.

   Sherlock took in John’s posture, the way his jaw was set, the trembling fist, his eyes staring hard at the table, not meeting his eyes. Anger. John was angry with him. He hadn’t expected that. Well  he had put it as something that was a possibility but he had data from before so he based his deduction from that. John should be happy to see him.

   “I need to explain, John. I need to tell you.” Sherlock said desperately as John threw the napkin that was on his lap onto the table. Sherlock was trying to deduct his every move to try to find the words that would make him stay. But he couldn’t figure it out and John stood, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.

   “I don’t want to hear it, Sherlock. None of it.” John hissed, his hand which held his coat shaking. That damn tremor of his hadn’t made an appearance in over eighteen months and now he couldn’t control it. “You put me through hell and then expect me to listen and admire your brilliance when you show up after three years of me thinking you were dead? No, Sherlock. It doesn’t work like that.”

   John stormed away towards the exit, his throat tight with anger, his stomach uneasy. Sherlock was right behind him as he stepped out onto the street, spotting Mary instantly. She looked up, her eyes searching, she recognised the anger instantly. She stepped forward just as Sherlock stepped out behind John.

   “John, please. Let me explain.” Sherlock called out his hand outstretched to catch John’s arm. John was running from him. He didn’t want that. He wanted John to stay. John always stayed. He had been the only one that had stayed.

   “Don’t!” John exclaimed, moving out of reach. Mary watched anxiously, stepping forward hesitantly to John. “I don’t want you to explain! I don’t want anything from you! Just leave!”

   “John, I know I hurt you . . .”

   “'Hurt me'? Hurt? No, Sherlock. You didn’t hurt me, you completely broke me.” John replied bitterly, only just feeling Mary’s small tugs on the sleeve of his suit jacket, “You don’t understand what your death did to me. Now you come back and expect me to bounce back to the person I was before you died? No. No can do, Sherlock.”

   “I do understand. You were the only person who stayed and it hurt _me_ to leave –”

   “Back to you again! It always comes back to the Great Sherlock Holmes.” John let the sarcasm and anger colour his voice as he threw his arms up in exasperation, signalling to Mary to step back. John turned slightly,

   “We’re going home now, Sherlock. Just leave.” John seethed, his hand going into Mary’s who clutched it tightly, her brow furrowing.

   She watched John carefully. His anger had never been a problem, she’d never seen him that angry. Angry over prices in the supermarket or something Harry had done. But she had never seen him in such a rage like now.

   “John, I’m back now. It doesn’t matter.”

   A fist went flying, the crunch of a nose under a fist caused Mary to move back quickly and wince as Sherlock staggered back, blinking in absolute shock. John was panting heavily, his hand no longer shook, but ached from the impact.

   Blood trickled from Sherlock’s nose as John huffed almost in defeat, “It matters to me. You put me through absolute hell, Sherlock. I buried you. I watched you jump off that building. I saw you dead on the pavement.” John’s voice cracked, his whole face drained of anger and just held an empty sadness.

   “I saw your blood and I cried Sherlock. I cried over you. I mourned you. I’m still mourning you because what you did killed me. When you jumped off that building you killed me. You were my friend, Sherlock. I was so alone,” John told him, the words he’d choked out at Sherlock’s grave spluttering from his mind, “Y-You were the only thing that kept me going. My _friend._ ”

   Mary stepped forward as John choked back a sob but Sherlock was quicker. He pulled him close to his chest, not letting go as John struggled against his chest at, trying to push away.

   “Let me go! You bastard! You absolute bastard!” John thrashed violently, pushing and pulling to get away but Sherlock held him tight, not giving up so easily.

   Then with a broken sob he gave up, his arms wrapping around Sherlock and clutching his suit.  His fingers aching with the grip he exerted on the fabric, as he hugged him back. John sobbed because Sherlock was alive. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t still and lifeless and covered in blood. His best friend was alive and well. He was here and that was all that really mattered for a moment.

   Sherlock hid his face in John’s shoulder, trying to stop the flood of emotions which was running through his body. They were breaking him down. John was breaking him down. Sentiment. John and sentiment came hand in hand. He couldn’t have John without it and he embraced it now. He gripped John tightly as he continued to sob into Sherlock’s chest.

   Sherlock looked up briefly and caught Mary stood there, a small smile on her lips as she watched them. She was happy for John. Sherlock had never encountered one of John’s girlfriends who had approved of their friendship. They had all been insufferable in their demands of John. But this woman stood in front of them didn’t look put out or resentful or holding any negative emotion in her expression. She met Sherlock’s eyes and smiled a little wider, and Sherlock took that as confirmation.

   Mary had heard all about Sherlock. John had told her after breaking down on her one night. He’d explained everything and she’d read his blog when he wasn’t looking. She had even had John sit her down one afternoon so he could talk to her about some of their cases and what living with Sherlock had been like. He always seemed lighter after they’d talked. So seeing John reunited with his friend put a smile on her face, because she admired the man that had made him so happy for all the time they had been together.

   Sherlock hesitantly held out a hand to her. He didn’t understand why he had done it at first, but then he remembered. Sentiment. And John. And maybe a small part of him admired her. For not doing what so many others had done and gone ‘piss off’.

   Mary stepped forward hesitantly before she got to them and smiled up at Sherlock who gave her a small one in return. John turned his head to the side and pulled her in quickly, hugging Sherlock with one arm now.  Sherlock rested his arm on Mary’s back and gave her a small squeeze. A thank you.  A thank you for making John happy after he’d hurt him so much.

   John squeezed them both, his chest still tight with emotion but now he felt a little lighter. He had both Mary and Sherlock. He had thought he was lucky to have found Sherlock when he did. He had thought he was lucky when he found Mary. But he had never felt luckier to have the two people he loved the most with him in that moment. The woman he loved and his best friend.

 


End file.
